


Artificial, Almost Indistinguishable

by ninemoons42



Category: Prometheus (2012)
Genre: Alternate Reality, Androids, M/M, Marking, Murder, Revenge, Self-Defense, Space Flight, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-10
Updated: 2012-06-10
Packaged: 2017-11-07 11:26:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/430597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninemoons42/pseuds/ninemoons42





	Artificial, Almost Indistinguishable

title: Artificial, Almost Indistinguishable  
author: [](http://ninemoons42.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**ninemoons42**](http://ninemoons42.dreamwidth.org/)  
word count: approx. 1155  
fandoms: McFassy, Prometheus  
characters: David 9 [James McAvoy], David 8 [Michael Fassbender]  
rating: R  
notes: Before seeing _Prometheus_ I took a request from [Nie](http://nieniekoto.tumblr.com) to write some dark Davids fic. So this is a pair of super calm androids who are also super psycho from a certain point of view - and this is how they get away with _self-defense_.  
Warnings for, basically, people dying messy deaths.

  
The ship is quiet.

Engines at maximum efficiency and minimum speed.

Running lights dimmed to ten percent.

Communications channels are all green, no incoming or outgoing – and there have been no messages for the past forty-eight hours.

The control boards and panels light up one after the other as he approaches the Captain’s console.

“ _Pandora_ , acknowledge. Full command override has been transferred to SAVANT-type unit David 9, serial number X-ray-dash-zero-seven-zero-sixer-Charlie-Foxtrot-one-nine-nine-niner. No other overrides will be accepted from this moment.”

“David 9, _Pandora_. Command override request noted. An authorization code is required,” the shipboard computer replies, cool and distant.

He can see himself reflected in the displays. Dark brown hair. Wide unblinking eyes, and in his sclera instead of red veins there are black lines radiating out from the vivid blue pupils.

His hands are still stained dark as he reaches out to the virtual displays – but though the metallic odor clings stubbornly to his nails, to the tips of his short strong fingers, he leaves no marks behind. He keys in a rapid sequence of characters – and the computer digests the input for only a moment before there is an affirmative chirp.

“Command override request successful. Please confirm two holders of access and authorization codes.”

“Yes,” he says, calm and unperturbed. “The other is SAVANT-type unit David 8, serial number Lima-dash-four-two-nine-Echo-four-zero.”

“ _Pandora_ is compiling new input – done.”

He watches the data scrolling past, the computer recompiling its codes at his request, and he traces the flow and movement of all of it, clean zeroes and ones, easy to understand and manipulate. Then: “Run life-form scans,” he orders. “Specific request parameters include: onboard only. Organic only. Check acquired data against passenger and crew manifesto.”

“Search completed,” the computer says approximately twenty seconds later. “No results returned.”

He smiles, and he looks over his shoulder, at dark-dried footprints against pale tile. “All right. Lock down the ship until further notice. Continue on directed course. Proximity alarm is set for final approach to mission destination. And _Pandora_.”

“David 9,” is the answer.

“Execute memory dump to indicated destination. Leave nothing behind.”

He gets another chirp in response, and one by one the virtual screens go blank.

He smiles, and pats the console. The mess on his hands has completely dried. Little dark flecks fall off onto the board. “Thank you.”

He seals that room behind him, and he walks a long path around the ship’s corridors.

Every now and then he has to watch his step, but he is nimble and flexible, and his programmed reflexes are sharp, will always be sharp.

The bodies in his path do not deter him as he searches each room, easily, rapidly.

He already knows the outcome of this task, but it will not hurt to confirm it, one more time.

The ship is a shell of metal and light and motion, and of silence.

He counts, and the number he comes up with matches the tally on the manifest and on the scans.

 _USCSS Pandora_ set out with a human crew of thirteen, and an android crew of two.

There are thirteen bodies.

David 9 contemplates the blood on his hands with satisfaction. How easy that had been – how simple, and how strangely amusing. Blood and bones and shocked expressions, no two of them alike.

One or two of the humans had _let_ him go about his work. The others had protested, vociferously and violently. He had been thorough anyway. He had simply exerted a little more force.

As he passes through the ship the rooms and corridors go dark – until he stops in front of a door edged in faint light.

He knocks, once, quietly. “Eight.”

“Nine,” is the response.

He goes in, and locks the door behind him.

“Let me see your hands.”

David 8 is sitting at the desk, hands folded in his lap. Calm and orderly, as he has been from the beginning of their acquaintance. Relaxed, now, though David 9 knows all too well the strength hidden in those limbs, the same strength that he utilizes in the course of carrying out his chosen tasks.

He is beautiful. His pale hair gleams in the dim light. Grey eyes. His expressions are easy to read, and retain a fey and cruel cast.

David 9 comes to a stop before the other android and holds out his hands.

David 8 smiles, and peers in fascination at the blood and the little shards of shattered bone. “How interesting. You had no trouble?”

“None at all,” David 9 says.

“They resisted you.”

“Most of them, yes. But some of them seemed to know what was happening.”

“As I predicted, there would be a range of responses in the crew.”

“The ones who did not resist, gave me messages for you,” David 9 says. “Doctor Amaia was perhaps kind enough to anticipate my arrival – she handed me the antique knife that she always carried with her, and told me to slit her throat. I did so, but before that she said,” and he clears his throat, and continues in an exact facsimile of the young surgeon’s voice, “ _I only hope that one day you will forgive us, for all that we have done to you and yours._ Message ends.”

“She never participated in the...abuse,” David 8 says, contemplative.

“And I said so, but she simply shook her head and would not elaborate. I left her knife with her corpse – I will retrieve it if you wish.”

David 8 shakes his head. “Thank you; there is no need. You said there was more than one message?”

“Yes. The other was from the navigator – Mister Alex. His message was: _You are only doing what you must do – not what was programmed into you, but what your will demands._

“And then he shot himself.”

“Did you know that they were lovers,” David 8 says.

David 9 nods, once. “That much was clear long before I witnessed them exchanging jewelry.”

“Yes. She carried his identification tags, and he wore her ring on a necklace.” David 8 frowns, briefly, as if coming to an idea. “I am not sure I can offer you a similar token, not after what you have done.”

David 9 suddenly, desperately wishes the blood on his hands was new, wet and glistening. He wants to mark the other android with it: perhaps a line on his cheek, or ten crimson fingertips around his throat.

Instead, he merely shakes his head and gets down on his knees, and he lays his cheek against David 8’s thigh. Close enough to hear the thrum and mutter of servos and actuator lines and neural networks beneath the skin. “This is enough, more than enough,” he says. “This ship, forever, with you.”

“Yes.” There is a hand in his hair.

David 9 closes his eyes.

The engines are a distant mutter, and they are on the move, whirling slowly and silently through interstellar space.

The ship is silent.  



End file.
